Wednesday
by Destiny's-Perfection
Summary: Now I look back, I should have seen it coming. Rain poured from the heavens. Thunder wrecked havoc across the skies. It was a Wednesday. - On that fateful night, why exactly did the Dark Lord choose Harry Potter?


If I could eat plot bunnies, I'd never go hungry. Unfortunately I can't. Which sucks. And I can't shoot them either. Which sucks even more.

This is actually a revised version. Longer and with less spelling and grammatical mistakes. Hopefully. I'm my own Beta so I'm not quite sure if I got all of them. But just so you know, my spell-check gave me the all clear. Leave me a note though, if you spot any mistakes.

In all honesty, I think this is as long as this story is going to get. I was thinking of expanding it, but have since scraped this idea. So far, I like this version. There's only one thing that is missing at the moment because I haven't written it in yet (and I'm not sure if I even will write it in).

This is actually one of my favourite stories that I've written. It's also one of the only one's that I've completed, which may contribute to why I like it so much,

Hi5 to **thatpottergurl** for guessing correctly about Ciel's name.

Thanks to those returning to read the revised version, and thanks to the new readers giving this story a shot.

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Did I ever tell you, Ciel, when I was born? We talked of many things together, I remember, but I do not believe I ever told you when I was born.

It was a Wednesday, by the way. A cold, wet, snowing, depressing Wednesday, just as the rest of the world was ushering in a New Year. Isn't that just maudlin, Ciel? How very fitting that I was born on a Wednesday of all days.

I don't know what day you were born, Ciel. I could look it up maybe, but I don't think I will. I won't. Because you of all people had to have been born on a Sunday. A child born on the Sabbath day. Kind, caring, loving and gay. I remember, Ciel, that you were all those things, and so much more. You were everything, Ciel... Did I ever tell you that? Did I ever tell you that you were my everything? My light and my life. My reason for living. You were my everything. And did you know, Ciel, you still are.

It shocks me sometimes, how clearly I can remember back to those days at the orphanage. But other times, I realize that most days blended into the next with seemingly no differentiation, so perhaps it is not as shocking as I believe it to be. There are few things I can remember before I met you, Ciel. Because really, Ciel, my life started with you, and it will end with you, too. But of those things I do remember.... I remember the cold and miserable Wednesday in November that Amy Bishop pushed me down the stairs and told me that no-one could ever love someone as ugly as me. I remember the scorching Wednesday in July when the older children of the orphanage locked me outside in the shed. And I remember the following Wednesday when the caretaker finally realized I was missing and found me, half-starved and burning with fever. Funny isn't it, Ciel, how my life seems to revolve around Wednesdays? You'd probably laugh, but I've come to abhor Wednesdays. They seem to only bring me bad luck. And even though I don't believe in bad luck, bad luck seems to believe in me.

It was raining when Mrs. Cole dragged you into the lobby of the orphanage soaking wet and shivering in the cold. And do you know what day it was then, Ciel? It was a Wednesday. The only Wednesday that I have ever been grateful for. The only Wednesday in my cursed life that has ever brought me joy. She introduced you as Lee DiVeci and I remember you cringed when she said that. She didn't tell any of us how your parents had died or why there was no-one to take care of you, but I remember that day very clearly. You didn't see me, of course. I was hiding in the corner, cowering behind my books. It was my only escape really. As long as I was reading, and quiet and out of the way, then no-one would hurt me. It was a good rule, and I stuck by it. But I'm getting off topic, aren't I, Ciel?

I remember the day Mrs. Cole dragged you in. I remember the way you shivered in your cold and wet clothes. I remember the way Mrs. Cole rested her hand lightly on your shoulder. Almost as if she wanted to touch you and push you away at the same time. But do you know what I remember the most, Ciel? I remember the way you turned your big green eyes up at her, gave her a heart-wrenching smile and said, in that voice that I would come to know and love, "Thank-you." And never before in my entire life had I ever seen anything as beautiful as that, nor as heart-breaking. Because really, Ciel... There was just something about your faint half-smiles that made people want to rip out there hearts and offer it to you on a silver platter, if only to make you happier. And I remember the way Mrs. Cole flinched and told you to go and play with the "other children." Do you remember that day, Ciel? I do. I remember because even though you were new and most likely afraid and willing to cling on to anyone that would have offered you support, you took the seat adjoining the window and just sat there, staring off into the rain outside. And even though I had only known you for all of 5 minutes, and even though you didn't even know that I existed, I remember thinking to myself that you sitting at that window was the most beautiful scene I had ever witnessed, and I promised myself that one day, it would be mine.

It took me a week to work up the courage to talk to you, Ciel. I remember when we were 13 and I told you that for the first time. Do you remember, Ciel? You laughed at me.... Right before you kissed me. But again Ciel, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I remember it took me a week to talk to you. And in that week, despite the fact that all the children in the orphanage were clambering to talk to you, you denied them all. Gave them a stoic, blank look before walking away, back to your window seat. And really, Ciel, it was always YOUR window seat.

It took me a week to talk to you. To work up the courage to face those heart-breaking viridian eyes. I remember once you told me you hated your eyes, Remember that, Ciel? You said that people took one look at your eyes and liked you for some reason. You hated that people never got to know you for who you were and not for how you looked. I remember because every morning I'd find you glaring at your own reflection. Remember that day you told me, Ciel? I asked you why you hated your reflection so, and you told me. Told me how much you hated your eyes. The same shade as death, you laughed darkly. It was a Wednesday.

And do you remember, Ciel? Do you remember what happened after? Do you remember that I took your face in my hands and looked you in the eyes and kissed you until your knees were weak and you were flushed with desire? And I told you that no matter what eye colour you had, I'd still think you were the most beautiful creature to walk under the stars. And what I remember the most, Ciel, is the morning after. When you looked into the mirror and your reflection stared back at you. And for the first time... You smiled. It was barely there. A half-smile, if anything. But your half-smiles had always been beautiful, Ciel. And I promised myself that I'd give anything in the world to keep that smile on your face.

I remember that it took me a week to talk to you, Ciel. And I remember the kind of child I was back then. I remember when I was the shy, quiet child when we first met at the orphanage. Now that I look back, those years seem so far off… Has it really been that long, Ciel? Has it really been that that long since I stopped being the sniveling weakling that cowered away from the bullies? Because that was what I was back then. A weak child with no power. But I remember the day that changed. Do you, Ciel? I remember the time Billy Stubbs locked us out of the orphanage when we came back after curfew. I remember it was the middle of December and it was freezing. I remember because it was raining. I remember because it was a Wednesday. And I remember being so mad at him, so hurt, that I cried, and cried, and ranted until my throat was hoarse. And I remember crying in the rain, with your hand clutched tightly in mine, until my face was red from exertion and blotchy from the tears, and my eyes were so swollen I had trouble keeping them open enough to see you. And I remember grasping hold of my rosary so firmly that my palm started bleeding. I remember asking why God hated us so much that He would force us to suffer through such evil. I remember asking if He would be kinder to us, love us more, if we were better, if we were good. And do you remember what you said to me back then, Ciel? After laughing at me, and kissing me on the forehead and telling me that I was such a naïve fool for believing in a righteous, benevolent God that let thousands of his people die and hurt and tear themselves apart everyday… Do you remember, Ciel? I remember. I remember so clearly.

"There is no such thing as good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it."

And do you remember what I promised you the next day, Ciel? The next day as you lay shaking and sweating from pneumonia on the Infirmary bed. I told you, promised, that one day I wouldn't be weak. One day I'd have the power to protect us from people like Billy. I wouldn't stop until I had enough power to hurt them as much as they hurt us. Because that's how we lived our lives, right Ciel? Back then, there were only two kinds of people in the world. There was Us, and there was Them. Us against the world, you'd always say. And it wasn't it oh so true Ciel? It was always us against the world. And I vowed to myself that one day, one day I'd give you the world.

I remember the next day I threw out my rosary.

Now that I look back, Wednesdays are even worse then I had originally thought. In the back of my mind, I can almost feel you laughing, Ciel. It makes me smile when I think of that laugh. That light, airy, depreciating laugh that made your whole face glow. You laughed at so many things, Ciel. I remember. I remember you laughing at Katie Monroe when she tripped on her shoelace and fell in to the pond at the nearby park. I remember you laughing at little Kenny Wilson when he fell off the swings and cut his forehead open. And I remember that even though you were laughing at them, mocking them for their foolishness, they always laughed with you. Because really Ciel, even though you were laughing at their expense, your laugh was so beautiful that it didn't matter. But I knew the truth. Knew why you were laughing. Knew that in some way you took pleasure from their pain. Because I remember you laughing that same depreciating laugh when I hurt Billy Stubbs' rabbit. And I remember hearing that exact same laugh when I took Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop down to the cave. And I remember that you laughed that same laugh when I hurt Billy Stubbs. Hurt him so bad that I made him cry and beg and plead for his miserable, worthless life. Remember that, Ciel? Remember when we found out that I had power too?

It was a Wednesday when Billy Stubbs pushed you out of the second story window and you broke your arm. I remember because I thought you were going to die. But instead you just… Bounced. And though I'd hated Billy Stubbs before, I'd never hated him as much as I did then. I hated him so much that I could have killed him. And I almost did, too. Remember that, Ciel? I almost killed him, Ciel, and I would have too, if you hadn't stopped me. I remember because it was the day after the doctor set your broken arm. The day after Billy pushed you out the window. I remember because when we got back to the room that all the children between 5 and 10 shared, Billy laughed at you and pushed you over and I remember you cringed because you'd landed on the arm that had broken. And I remember being so mad, so terribly angry, Ciel, that I wanted Billy to hurt as much as he hurt you. I wanted him to fall to the floor in pain and I wanted him to stay that way. And do you remember what happened, Ciel? I grabbed him. Grabbed Billy Stubbs by the collar and he fell to the ground the instant I touched him. Fell and screamed. Screamed so loud that I was surprised that Mrs. Cole didn't come rushing in to see what the commotion was. So loud that the other children cringed and shied away with hands over their ears and mouths open in shock. And I remember him begging for it to stop. Do you remember that, Ciel? Do you remember how Billy pleaded and pleaded. "S-stop, p-please! Oh god, p-please m-make it s-stop!" Oh Ciel, how I remember his screams so well. But just as his screams were melodious to my ears, so was your laugh. That light, airy, depreciating laugh of yours. And I remember being mad enough to kill him. Until you wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed your mouth to the side of my neck and said, in that lilting tone you used when you were amused, "Thank-you Tom, that's enough." And I remember being so shocked that you'd actually said my name, so dumbfounded that I did indeed stop. And then we left. But not before I made my intent clear to the rest of the orphanage scum.

"You hurt Ciel again, and I'll kill you."

I laugh as I think back to your inherent dislike for my name. I recall when I first introduced myself. Stuck out my hand and said, "Tom Marvolo Riddle." And you asked if I was named after anyone and I told you I was named for both my father and my grandfather and I remember you wrinkled your nose in distaste. You always did that. Wrinkled your nose when things were 'most unpleasant' as you would say. I wonder what you would say now if you knew that my name has become so feared that people do not even dare utter it. I can just imagine your mocking laughter now, Ciel. 'You-Know-Who?' You'd say lightly, with just a hint of your depreciating humour, 'No, I don't know who actually.' I know you'd laugh at the thought of my name being taboo. After all, you were the one who named me. I smile thinking back on the memory. Do you remember, Ciel? Do you remember what happened? It was days, weeks, (I can't quite remember) after the incident with Billy. And I'd asked you what exactly was your problem with my name. And I remember you laughed and you said you hated that it tied me to two men whom you hoped were dead. Two men that didn't deserve being related to someone who was going to be as great as me. And I remember asking why and you told me that being named after anyone that didn't want you was nothing short of blasphemous. 'I should know after all, I was named after one of my parents as well.' And it was from this innocuous conversation that Lord Voldemort was born. Do you remember, Ciel? Remember how you told me that despite being named after worthless cretins, you already had a name that was entirely your own.

'Ciel.' You said. 'Ciel DeVie.'

I laughed at the anagram and you said that it was a way to always remind yourself that no matter what happened, the ties to the cretins that had birthed you were inconsequential. Despite the weakness that you had inherited from them, you were still great, that's what you said.

'I intend to make myself great from their weakness. We both will. Don't worry, we'll show the world.'

And I believed you.

But I failed didn't I, Ciel? I had you... But not for long. I failed to keep you as mine. I failed at keeping you smiling. I failed and you know what, Ciel? That's the real key to my success. I know Dumbledore, my Death Eaters; they wonder how I could have suffered through all those rituals and the Dark Magic. They wonder how I could have subjected my body to such horrifying processes. All those who have attempted them in the past have all died. From the pain. But you were my source of success, Ciel, as always. How did I keep myself sane as my I subjected my body to torturous ritual after torturous ritual? I laugh at the question. I kept myself sane because I have felt pain greater then anything that can be inflicted upon my physical body. They do not know, but I hear the whisperings among my followers. Whisperings that any other wizard would have died had they undergone the lengths that I have gone to. But I scoff at their words. They talk as if I was alive to begin with. Because that's the truth isn't it, Ciel? I was dead when I attempted my first ritual to gain power. I was dead as I fell to the floor screaming in pure agony. I was dead when the pain ebbed away and power flushed through my veins. Because really, Ciel, I've been dead ever since you died.

Now I look back on it, I can't help but let a bitter laugh escape. I should have seen it coming.

It was pouring rain.

There was thunder wrecking havoc across the skies.

It was a Wednesday.

And once again I find myself at a Wednesday. And it's pouring rain. I trudge through this dreary weather towards Godric's Hollow. Thunder booms in the distance. Tell me, Ciel, is this an omen of what is to come? I have not asked my followers to accompany me. I shall see to the Potter's personally. But still, they await me at Malfoy Manor. To celebrate another victory towards the Dark Side once the Mudblood and the Blood Traitor and their spawn are gone. But doubt lingers in my heart, Ciel. Even as one foot makes its way in front of another, whispers of misgivings plague my mind. But I harden my resolve.

My followers wonder as to why I have chosen the Potter brat. Would you have agreed, Ciel? Agreed to my reasoning? Severus brought to my attention a prophecy just days ago. A prophecy supposedly predicting my downfall. And at first I had assumed the Longbottom child. Until I saw his picture. Until Wormtail handed my a photograph to show me what exactly the Longbottom brat looked like. And imagine my surprise, Ciel, when my entire breath left my body. Because in the photo the Potter son was also present. And death green eyes stared back at me from the photo, and for the first time since that Wednesday so long ago, I felt anger course through my veins.

Viridian eyes gazed back at my own from the photo and although my eyes saw this, within my mindscape I could see another set of jade eyes. And the child's lips tugged upwards briefly and for a minute I could almost imagine that it was your heart-breaking half-smile all over again and in that instant I knew that Harry Potter had to die.

Sacrilegious. That a child could be born with such a startling resemblance.

Blasphemy. That he should live when you do not.

And so Harry Potter must die.

Thus I walk towards the house that contains the child that must die. Die because every minute he lives, every breath he takes, is a desecration of your memory, my dear beloved Ciel with your dazzling death green eyes. And thunder roars across the sky. And rain pounds against the sidewalk. And it is this, more then anything, that reminds me that it is a Wednesday.

Wednesday and once again, it pours. I trudge through this dreary weather towards number 9, Godrics Hollow... Tell me, Ciel, is this an omen of what is to come? I have not asked my followers to accompany me. I shall see to the Potter's personally. But still, they await me at Malfoy Manor. To celebrate another victory towards the Dark Side once the Mudblood and the Blood Traitor and their spawn are gone. But doubt lingers in my heart, Ciel. Even as one foot makes it's way in front of another, whispers of misgivings plague my mind.

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